From a young age I had always loved the excitement of being outside. The fresh-air, the warmth of the sun, the deep blue sky, and the colorful plants made me never want to go inside. There was so much to do outside that every day I created my own adventures such as playing pirates in the pool, or digging an underground airsoft bunker five feet deep in the backyard with my brothers. Walking around barefoot and feeling the concrete slightly burn my feet even made me happy. However, going to the lake was incomparable to anything I had ever done before. The wind blowing through my hair, the sun beating down on my slightly pinked skin, while hanging out with my loved ones; it surrounded me with an unexplainable happiness.
My first memory of the
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A splashing sound would ring through my ears as fish broke the glassy surface of the lake slightly. This tended to interrupt my daydreams causing me to look up and gaze upon the slightly uneven ripples that glimmered beneath the sunlight. I walked near the edge of the lake; the calming sound of pebbles crunching underfoot serenaded my ears, and disturbed a Marsh Hen enough for it to run off down the bank. A Windhover, enticed by the disturbance, glided low above the yard next door to me. I lay down on the edge of the sun-warmed water and gazed into its depths trying to see what creatures lurked beneath the surface: At first, I could only see small insects and pond weed, but the longer I sat still, the differing layers of water somehow become transparent to my eyes and I could discern different layers. Beginning with the open clear layer containing minnows darting around in a disorderly way, the next layer darker was home to large crappie fish whom sat still, intently watching my every move as I lazily gazed back at him. Then there is the eerily darkened bottom of the lake, the mixture of blackish-brown silt and clay dancing with life and squishing between my wiggling toes. A dragonfly caught my attention, and landed on a stick nearby; I lifted my head for a moment to watch its metallic blue finery body reflect in the sunlight, but it left as quickly as it had come. In my peripheral view, I
Nature has a powerful way of portraying good vs. bad, which parallels to the same concept intertwined with human nature. In the story “Greasy Lake” by T. Coraghessan Boyle, the author portrays this through the use of a lake by demonstrating its significance and relationship to the characters. At one time, the Greasy Lake was something of beauty and cleanliness, but then came to be the exact opposite. Through his writing, Boyle demonstrates how the setting can be a direct reflection of the characters and the experiences they encounter.
Vannatta, Dennis “Greasy Lake.” Masterplots II: Short Story Series, Revised Edition, 2004 MagillOnLiterature Plus. Web. 8 April 2006
There is no better feeling in this world than to be outdoors with nature, especially when there are numerous activities to dabble in. Often times people take for granted the sentimental value that they can experience by simply walking through a park. God created the Earth to be beautiful and peaceful, and people need to keep it that way. I have always shared a love of the outdoors with my dad and my brother. We have gone on numerous camping, hiking, fishing, and star-gazing trips ever since I can remember. It was no surprise to me when my dad decided to buy a lake house on Hyco Lake, right outside of Roxboro. We got a really good deal on the house, so my dad decided that Hyco Lake was the perfect spot.
Here, White is describing the lake and the dock. White captures the timelessness of the lake as he describes it as being exactly where he left it and “the same number of inches from the dock, and there was only the merest suggestion of a breeze”. In the same paragraph, he describes the shallows as dark, with smooth and old sticks and twigs near the clean sand. He also describes a school of minnows as their shadows chase them across the water. His use of sensory language is especially effective in that it allows the readers to craft a visualization of their own solely based upon his vivid descriptions of the
The water was calm, like the morning; both were starting to get ready for the day ahead. The silent water signals that although rough times occurred previously, the new day was a new start for the world. As I went closer to the water, I heard the subtle lapping of the water against the small rocks on the shore. Every sign of nature signals a change in life; no matter how slight, a change is significant. We can learn a lot from nature: whatever happens in the natural world, change comes and starts a new occurrence. I gazed over the water to where the sky met the sea. The body of water seemed to be endless under the clear blue sky. The scope of nature shows endless possibilities. Nature impresses us with the brilliant colors of the sky, the leaves, the water. She keeps us all in our places and warns us when we are careless with her. After all the leaves have fallen from the trees, she will offer us the first snows of the year to coat the earth with a tranquil covering. That will only be after we have recognized the lessons of autumn, the gradual change from warm to cold, rain to snow, summer to winter.
First, White uses imagery throughout his essay to create an effective visual of his experiences at the lake. To start his essay, White reflects on his childhood memories of the lake when he and his family visited every summer: “I remembered clearest of all the early morning, when the lake was cool and motionless, remembered how the bedroom smelled of the lumber it was made of and the wet woods whose scent entered the screen.” This passage enhances
A Summary of “Once More to the Lake” by E. B. White E. B. White shows how the changes in time can affect a very familiar spot in his essay, “Once More to the Lake”. When White was a child, he and his family would return to the same lake in Maine every year for many years. He brought his son along with him and was excited to see what memories and senses he would be reminded of in his time there. White was adventurous as a child and would think back at his time alone on the lake. He explored the lake's surroundings and enjoyed the many smells and noises of nature that he had forgotten.
Water rushing, pushing, and pulling our raft down the river. The crystal clear liquid leaves nothing to the imagination as I eagerly peer over the edge of the boat, frantically searching the round stones for the mysterious Giant Salamander said to be native to these waters.
I jumped out of my bed, rushed to the window and took a very deep breath. The morning air was full of special fragrant. I could not understand that scent; just remember that it was quite special. Now I know that it was a scent of freedom. It seemed like I could see all the molecules that were dancing in the rays of the sun as a little cartoon bulbs: very light and happy.
The visual surrounding the lake was perceived before the mountains was beautiful and serene. The lavender flowers near the water mirroring the colossal mountains smelled of spring. The sunset illuminated the sky making it purple and orange. The huge rocks were faultless and could be used for sitting and thinking. The warm breeze reassured that springtime was near. The lake was ideal for swimming, it was so clear. The cabins around the lake were perfect for summertime with family and friends. The clouds looked impeccable as they were angled over the mountains, their rectangular shapes resembled fluffy pillows. The snow had almost completely melted off the mountain in the distance. The environment was well needed for break within a busy life.
We took off down a path covered softly with moss and tiny pink flowers. Off to the side of the path were endless green trees and pants all nestled together to make one beautiful piece of art. After a while, we reached a sparkling, clear brook. It was about twelve feet deep and nearly three feet deep. The path wound right along side the water. Down the brook a ways, we came to a deep water hole where the fish danced in the swirling current. I noticed the brook was beginning to flow a little faster now, and I could hear the steady, rushing noise of the water falling over the cliffs that lied ahead. We walked to the cliff's edge to look over at the crystal clear lagoon that lay below us. The falls dropped about thirty feet down before it met the pool of water below. To the sides of the waterfall were moss-covered rocks, ferns and other green plants, growing from the crevices of the cliffs.
Closer and closer to the calm water, I began sinking deeper in the sand. It was comforting, the silence, tranquility, and warmth of the faint sun. There is a slight breeze, warm, but cold and lonely. I could smell the scent of fish blowing through my hair and body. The sun was still fading, slowly but surely the day was almost over. About half of it is gone now. I could see shades of blue, red, purple, and pinkish-yellow. They were mixed with puffy clouds that lined the beginning of the sky and the end of the water. I noticed the darker shades on the bottom of the lower clouds.
Clouds like cotton candy shift above the arches as if they look like eyes watching over the ruffled sheets of red clay. Many shapes and sizes of the white billow come to life as it moves across the bright blue sky, shadowing and cooling the red clay that are in the midst of the reddened surface. The light blue colors in the atmosphere comes out, as the white clouds shifts away, as if the sky looked like a sea full of waves. Glossy, black, winged crows roam the sky with eyes everywhere protecting the lands from high above. Their shadows following them across the flat Sandy plateau.
was warm and steamy. I was tan and happy. My dad, my two sisters and I
Scarlet, nestling with lilac, bleeds into a patchwork of sublime azure as the first blush of dusk creeps through faint puffs of clouds poised over the horizon. The tranquil waters divinely mirror the vibrant kaleidoscope above. Each passing moment leads to a slow yet steady tango of colorful transformation; a shy gold eventually erupts into a fiery orange which, in time, manifests back into a budding rose. Da Vinci, in all his refined glory, could have never painted anything like this. The scene before me, woven with the kind of essence that transforms non-believers, seems to be the sole foundation for the popular teleological argument of design, and rightfully so.